


adulthood

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [24]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “I’m going to go hit up the hot bartender, hopefully I will not see you later,” Robbie says.
Matty frowns, and Crane raises his eyebrows. Wheels, good, dependable ol’ Wheels, holds out a fist. “Good luck, my man,” he says. 
“Who needs luck when you’ve got swag?” Robbie asks, fistbumping Wheels, and heads off before Crane and Matty fail to mock him like they usually would.





	

Matty’s pretty mad at him. Like, he doesn’t say so, and he doesn’t end up sharing Crane’s room in Montreal, but he wafts ‘I don’t wanna talk to you’ vibes so strongly while they’re watching some comedy special that Robbie goes to hang out in David’s room so he’ll upset Matty less with his existence.

Matty is the opposite of a grudge holder, so Robbie’s hoping things get better once they’re back home. It seems like they are, at first — Matty grins a little when Robbie does his pump up shimmy before the game, doesn’t seem to mind Robbie tagging along for a chill post-game hangout at the bar near Matty and Wheels’ place they’re kind of regulars at. Matty needs space sometimes. Sometimes it’s just because Robbie’s getting on his nerves, sometimes it’s because Robbie said something mean and stupid, like this time, and Robbie knows by now that once he has that space, he goes back to normal pretty quick. Robbie gave him space, and he didn’t take any extra, didn’t stay with Crane or anything, so things are probably fine. 

Except when they all sit down at the usual booth — all being the Class of Canadiana Plus Masshole — it feels wrong, like maybe Robbie shouldn’t be there.

“Drinks?” Robbie asks. “First round’s on me?” 

“Sure,” Wheels says, when Matty and Crane both don’t answer, and that’s confirmation right there.

Robbie goes to the bar, places an order with Damien, who’s so used to them he’s already getting the first pitcher ready for Robbie before he opens his mouth. He’s tempted to change the order, just to fuck with him, but it’s Matty’s favorite beer.

“My man,” Robbie says. “You know me so well.”

“You tip well,” Damien says.

“Ouch,” Robbie says. “I thought we had something special.” 

“We do,” Damien says. “Because you tip well.” He’s grinning though, as he says it. He smiles at all of them — they do tip pretty damn well — but it’s a different smile than the one the other guys get. Damien has always been kind of flirty with Robbie in that kind of way where if Robbie got defensive he could deny it and act like Robbie was reading into it wrong. Robbie’s flirted back in the same way, but never more than that, because this is their usual place, and a good bartender is harder to find than a hook-up. Plus, Damien’s cute, but he’s not really Robbie’s type.

“See if I come back, with that attitude,” Robbie says.

“Want me to bring the pitchers over?” Damien asks, taking Robbie’s threat just about as seriously as it deserves to be taken.

“I’ll take one of ‘em,” Robbie says, juggles it and the four glasses back to their table. When he puts them down conversation halts so abruptly it’s like a record scratching, and Robbie knows they were talking about him. He’d call them on it, but. It’s already awkward enough.

Robbie bets it wouldn’t be as awkward if Georgie was there instead. They all seem to like him, and Robbie knows he doesn’t do shit like call his best friend a needy bitch. Sure, cheated on his needy bitch best friend, but it’s not like that part’s relevant to three straight guys. Wouldn’t make that much difference to them, swapping out a Masshole for an asshole from Rhode Island, at least geographically. 

Robbie tunes out the conversation Matty and Wheels are having about American Ninja Warrior as he pours their beers, waits until Damien brings the second pitcher over to pour his own. Everyone says thanks when he slides their pints over, but it’s more knee-jerk Canadian politeness than actual communication. It’s pretty clear they don’t want him here. Like, Wheels doesn’t seem to care either way, but that’s because Wheels has a policy of never getting in the middle of anything ever. In the Caps system, Wheels is Switzerland; not to be mistaken for Frei, who is Swiss.

Wheels continues from American Ninja Warrior to The Voice, which he at least has the excuse of watching with his girlfriend — Matty has zero excuse for watching it with them — and Matty comments a few times, but he’s mostly quiet. He’s looking pretty down, and Robbie hopes that isn’t all his fault, but it probably is. Crane’s been alternating between drinking and giving Robbie the stinkeye. Robbie’s clearly just ruining everyone’s night by sitting here, including his own, so halfway through his pint he scrapes his chair back.

“I’m going to go hit up the hot bartender, hopefully I will not see you later,” Robbie says.

Matty frowns, and Crane raises his eyebrows. Wheels, good, dependable ol’ Wheels, holds out a fist. “Good luck, my man,” he says. 

“Who needs luck when you’ve got swag?” Robbie asks, fistbumping Wheels, and heads off before Crane and Matty fail to mock him like they usually would.

The bar’s pretty deserted, which is a good sign now that Robbie’s locked himself into following through. It’s that or going back to where he’s not wanted. Alternately, leaving entirely, which would make it a whole thing. “Hey,” Robbie says.

“Hey, need another pitcher already?” Damien asks. “You won, but you didn’t win _that_ big.”

“Figured I’d just chill here,” Robbie says. “If you don’t mind. You looked kind of lonely.”

“Don’t mind at all,” Damien says. “Happy to have you here.”

“So nice to me,” Robbie says.

“Try to be,” Damien says.

“When do you get off tonight?” Robbie asks. “You stuck closing?”

Damien’s eyes go a little wide, because yeah, that was very much not deniable. 

“I can ask Katie if she will,” Damien says. “She’s supposed to head out when it dies off, but she owes me a favor.”

“Looks pretty dead to me,” Robbie says.

Damien’s eyes flick over the bar, takes in the scattered clientele. “Let me check with her.”

“You do that,” Robbie says.

When he turns, the Class of Canadiana are watching him. Well, it looks like Matty headed to the bathroom, but Crane and Wheels are. Crane’s expression is inscrutable, while Wheels is smirking, which is pretty typical, comfortingly so. Robbie gives them a thumbs up, and Wheels shoots him a thumbs up in return, mouths ‘slut’. Robbie has a feeling he’s going to rag on him next practice. He kind of hopes he does, wanders over and gets on him about his newfound skillz or whatever while Georgie seethes.

“I can leave in about twenty or so if we don’t get a bunch of people in,” Damien says when he gets back.

“Cool,” Robbie says, takes a sip of his beer. “Cool.” 

When he heads out with Damien closer to a half hour later, Wheels is laughing, Crane still inscrutable. Matty isn’t looking at him. Robbie tries not to feel shitty about that. He fails pretty hard.

*

Robbie definitely sees more of Georgie this summer than last summer — he swears he’s memorized every exit between Saugus and Providence at this point, even though his mom’s usually doing the driving to see her new bestie. It still doesn’t really feel like enough, especially when they split up, Washington and Cleveland, do their respective rookie camp things. 

The Caps seem to like Robbie, at least enough that they tell him to come back for a proper tryout during training camp. Robbie’s not getting his hopes up or anything, but it’d be pretty fucking amazing if they both had their rookie seasons coming up, because Georgie? Georgie’s already set.

They didn’t keep Georgie in suspense — before his rookie camp even finishes, Georgie gets told that unless he fucking sucks or breaks a leg or something, he’s going to be on the roster, second pairing even. They want to sign him this summer, so even if he does suck or break his leg, he’s still going to be a Baron, worst case a Baron on the third pairing or injured reserve. 

It’s not too surprising they want him, considering they didn’t have a lot of defensive depth in the first place and they stupidly just traded away one of their best D-men in exchange for some cheap offense and a pick, and that’s ignoring the fact Georgie was a fucking Hobey Baker nominee. They’d have been fucking stupid not to sign him.

Georgie flies out to Cleveland with his dad twice in July. He comes back the first time with an entry-level contract and the second time with a lease starting August first, and suddenly everything feels real. Georgie’s going to Cleveland for training camp, and he won’t suck, and Robbie _really_ hopes he doesn’t break his leg, and he’s going to be a Baron. 

Georgie doesn’t have training camp until the end of August, but he wants to go early, settle in for a few weeks first. Robbie gets that, really, he does, but that means Georgie’s leaving weeks earlier, which fucking sucks.

“So come with me,” Georgie says. “Help me move in.”

“You just want free labor,” Robbie says, but he lets Georgie buy him a plane ticket for five days after Georgie gets there. He’s getting zero free labor from Robbie. Robbie’s made it crystal clear that furniture better be assembled by then. 

Georgie apparently does just fine all by himself, because by the time Robbie gets there his apartment looks like an actual apartment. Like, he has a bookshelf and a _dining room table_. That’s some hardcore adult shit. 

“Big shot with a dining room table,” Robbie says, running a finger over it. “You’ve grown up, Georgie boy.”

“Wanna help me christen it?” Georgie asks.

“That’s blasphemy, Dineen,” Robbie says.

“Is that a no?” Georgie says, mouth tipping up.

“You know it isn’t,” Robbie says.

There’s something weirdly grown up about waking up in Georgie’s apartment the next morning. Like, when Robbie goes back he’s back to the old Bruins sheets at his parents’ — Georgie has not come through with Barons sheets yet — but right now he’s sharing a bed with Georgie that isn’t a fucking twin or in a hotel, which is weird but really good. Like, domestic. Robbie’s not exactly looking forward to going back, figuring out how to navigate his life without Georgie constantly attached at the hip to him, but right now Georgie’s apartment is just like…a vacation from life or whatever. No obligations other than their mission to christen as many places as possible before Robbie leaves. Dining room and bedroom have been achieved, and Robbie has faith in their ability to get to the rest of them.

“You up?” Georgie asks, tucking his chin into the place Robbie’s neck meets his shoulder.

Robbie grunts and turns his head, presses a kiss to the nearest part of Georgie, which ends up being his nose.

“Hey,” Georgie says. “Breakfast? Eggs?”

“I think it’s hilarious that you get an apartment and suddenly think you can cook,” Robbie says.

“I can cook,” Georgie says. “It’s eggs, dude. You just watch me.”

“Nah,” Robbie says, and rolls onto his stomach. “Sleep.”

“Lazy,” Georgie says, punctuating it with a smack to Robbie’s ass as he gets out of bed.

“Sleep,” Robbie repeats. He’d reach for Georgie, try to drag him back to bed, but honestly, he _is_ too lazy. Georgie’s trying to get on a schedule or whatever even though it’s over a week until training camp, but Robbie’s a free man until his Caps tryout, and he’s going to use all that time wisely. By sleeping. And wandering around Cleveland alone, he guesses, since Georgie has some shit with front office today. He may as well get used to Cleveland. Unless they trade him or send him down Georgie’s here for awhile, so Robbie’s going to have to get to know the city or whatever.

“Roberto,” Georgie calls out like a second later, but Robbie smells bacon, so he probably fell back asleep. “I’m eating all of it if you don’t get your ass out here.”

Robbie groans and gets out of bed, grabbing his boxers off the floor and shuffling into the living room, then the dining room when he sees it’s all set up, scrambled eggs and bacon, rye toast for Georgie and whole wheat for Robbie. Georgie doesn’t like whole wheat, which means he bought it for Robbie. Robbie’s chest hurts a little. 

Still, not so random bouts of heart pain can’t override the fact that breakfast is lacking a mandatory component.

“Ketchup,” Robbie demands.

“Seriously, so fucking lazy,” Georgie says, but goes and grabs it from the kitchen. “Don’t smother it with ketchup, tell me if it’s any good first.”

“It’s eggs, dude,” Robbie parrots at him, but they’re actually pretty good. Not no ketchup good, but eggs need ketchup. “You don’t fail, ‘grats,” Robbie tells him.

“Thanks,” Georgie says sarcastically, kicking his ankle under the table. “This is weird,” he says a minute later.

“Huh?” Robbie asks.

“Like, sitting at my dining room table in my own apartment,” Georgie says. “Less than two weeks ‘til training camp. With you.”

Robbie knows Georgie would have gotten offers to billet or live with one of the older dudes. He doesn’t think it’s being arrogant or paranoid or whatever to figure Georgie turned them down basically for exactly this reason, that Robbie can come and stay and there isn’t any no homo posturing or whatever. That they can play footsie in their underwear without anyone getting all uptight about the rookie and his boyfriend. That’s like. Also a lot to take in. But not in a bad way or anything.

“Why am I weird?” Robbie asks, scowling, then before Georgie can say anything. “Yeah, I know. It’s like. Adult.”

“It is,” Georgie says, looking kind of freaked out.

“Hey, no,” Robbie says, sliding out of his chair and circling the table to perch on Georgie’s thigh. He’s not even putting his weight on him, so he does not appreciate the ‘oof’ from Georgie. “Adult’s good.”

“Yeah?” Georgie asks.

“Yeah,” Robbie confirms, and leans down to catch Georgie’s mouth.

“Is making out while breakfast gets cold adult?” Georgie mumbles against his mouth awhile later.

“Uh huh,” Robbie mumbles back.

“Kay,” Georgie says, and gets his hands on his ass to pull him in for, like, the perfect angle to rub off against his thigh, which is…maybe kinda high school, but the point is that it’s in Georgie’s apartment, so obviously, like. Adult. Clearly.

After coming thankfully _not_ in his underwear like a teenager, and cleaning up with napkins that Georgie put on the table for breakfast — possibly the most adult thing so far — they finally disentangle. Breakfast _is_ cold, but. Worth it.

“Shit, I gotta get dressed,” Georgie says. He changes quickly enough that Robbie knows he’s probably pushing late, but he still takes a second to come back to the kitchen table where Robbie’s glaring at his eggs, trying to heat them with his eyes.

“Look okay?” Georgie asks.

“Your collar’s crooked,” Robbie says, and gets up to fix it for him.

“Probably won’t take more than a few hours, but back by dinner latest,” Georgie says.

“Stay with me,” Robbie whines. He knows he just undermined the adult thing completely, but he doesn’t feel as much shame as he probably should.

“Extra key by the front door if you want to go out,” Georgie says, kissing Robbie’s forehead. “I’ll bring back some food. Feel like pasta?”

“I guess,” Robbie says.

“Don’t miss me too much,” Georgie calls out over his shoulder as he heads toward the door.

“Missing you already, boo,” Robbie says. It doesn’t come out as sarcastic as he means it to.


End file.
